“It’s okay. He won’t hurt you.” Santos’ breath fans across my neck, stirring the small hairs there, and I shiver. He smells like sweat and horse manure and something fresh, like pine soap.
“Animals hate me,” I say breathlessly, my eyes fixed on the giant beast, my body focused on the beast behind me. I feel completely and totally trapped.
“Why would they hate you, Valentina? You should be more confident. They can sense that kind of thing.”
“If you really knew me, you’d say differently.” I sound pathetic, but I can’t help the words from slipping out. Santos remains silent for several seconds, and then I feel him move just a fraction closer, as if drawn forward without realizing it. His hand rests lightly on my lower back, heating my skin, before he nudges me forward.
“Just talk to him. Stay in his eye sight at all times—never go behind him or under him. Work opposite of him and then kiss to him to get him to move around until it’s all raked into a pile in the middle. Then, you can get the wheelbarrow and scoop it all out.”
“How do you know all this?” I look at him over my shoulder, expecting him to look at me like I’m stupid. There’s only gentleness on his face, a teasing smile playing with the corners of his mouth.
“Trial and error. Now, no more questions. Get to work so we can get dinner. I think a tequila sounds good.” He winks, and I groan.
SIXTEEN
VALENTINA
September 21st, 2025
Walking into the house,I beeline straight for the hot shower screaming my name. Dirt and sweat coat my skin, and there’s a thick paste of it beneath my fingernails. I’ve never been so dirty, and my back aches from the labor.
Yet, I can’t help the smile playing across my lips.
I’ve always been a hard worker—doing the things no one else is willing to do in order to get the job done—but I’ve never worked like this,and I’m secretly proud of myself.
Not that I’d ever admit it. Doing so would mean Mateo was right, and I can’t even fathom the thought.
“V?” McCrae sounds surprised from behind me, and I reluctantly turn around.
“Yeah?” I cross my arms.
“You’re—” He licks his lips, his sandy eyebrows scrunching together as he looks for the words. “I mean, what’d you?—”
I roll my eyes. “I was helping Santos clean the stalls.”
“You werewhat?” he growls, his confusion evaporating.
For once, I feel irritation instead of triumph at his jealous demeanor. I didn’t even want him to know I was working with Santos—it wasn’t about him at all. For the first time, it was about me, about wanting to do something that made me feel good, strong,worthy.
But now, seeing McCrae’s face, I know he thinks I did it all to make him mad. It sucks the joy I was feeling only moments ago out right out of my body.
Does he really think everything I do revolves around wanting him?
“He needed help, and I helped him.”
“You’re fucking kidding? After what I told you this morning? After everything I’ve done for you?—”
“It wasn’t about you. It wasn’t even about him.” I feel the anger pouring through me now, like an open faucet with a broken handle—it’s started, and I’ve no way of stopping it. It just pumps into me, filling me until I no longer know where my rage begins and I end—like that’s all I am and ever will be.
I feel betrayed, belittled.
And McCrae’s never once made me feel like this until now.
“He’s using you, Valentina.”
“Doesn’t everyone?” I bite back. “What makes him worse than anyone else using me? Why can’t I at least choose who I do and don’t get used by? Don’t you use me, McCrae?”
His face falls, the red heat of his own anger dissipating almost instantly.
